


War In Her Veins

by TigerOfSummer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigerOfSummer/pseuds/TigerOfSummer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa retreats to her chambers as the war rages on, only to find a visitor waiting for her. A smutty rendition of the night of the Blackwater. Sansa is aged up to eighteen because I can do that, enjoy ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

“No one is raping me,“ she said, flashing Sansa the dagger strapped to her calf beneath her skirts. “Go, run!” Comprehension struck her suddenly at the sight of Shae’s mean of defense. She was smart, and Sansa knew she should follow her advice and run somewhere safe. In King’s Landing, however, the only safe place she could think of was the sanctity of her own chambers.

What choice did she have? She could not leave the castle while the streets were overflowing with dying and bloodthirsty soldiers. The thought drove her from walking to running. Nightmarish memories of the mob made her heart race with fear. _I hope the Hound has survived all this._ She needed him to survive. He had protected her, and if he was dead there was no telling what Joffrey would do to her without consequence, _if he wins this war, if he lives._ What Sandor Clegane had told her at Maegor’s Keep was true; he was the only person that stood between her and the vile King.

Almost flying down the last flight of stairs, she made a sharp turn to her right and, spotting her chamber door, pushed herself through it.

She shoved too hard and stumbled inside the room, the door had been left slightly open but she hadn’t even noticed. Drawing the latch on the frame, she took a moment to catch her breath. The only lights in the room were that of a lone, dwindling candle on her dresser and, faintly, the still raging wildfire from Blackwater Bay.

Lifting the small lantern to her mirror stand, she looked at herself. The small scar on her left cheek was slowly healing. Looking at it made her feel brave, reminded her that she was a survivor and that should could survive anything. It was a delusional thing in truth, but she drew strength in the faith that she could not be killed.

Thoughts of how she’d obtained that scar crowded her mind. She’d be haunted by that day for the rest of her life. Physically shaking her head from the details, her mind drifted to the Hound once more. Remembering how he’d been there and killed her attackers gave her some solace. Being so much taller than them, and stronger, it hadn’t taken long to finish them. He was so unlike any man she’d ever met; big, heavily muscled, remarkably long-fingered, almost effeminate hands – hands the sight of which awakened in her new emotions.

Emotions that began to override her fear of the night’s conclusion. The rush of adrenaline stirred an excitement within her, and somehow her mind kept imagining Sandor Clegane in battle, wielding his two-handed longsword with both hands. He was out there now…

The failing light of the candle brought her back from her reverie. A draft blew it out and for a moment all she saw was darkness all around her. She decided she might as well lie down until Stannis’ men came to tell her what she already knew; that she’d be the same hostage with a different, maybe more merciful, captor.

There was a soft creaking as she fell into bed. Her eyes slowly started to adjust to the darkness and could make out the details of the canopy overhead. She then closed them and envisioned the Hound once more, slaying her enemies left and right. She sighed and pulled up her skirts, tentatively touching herself, slowly at first, and then gradually faster at the thought of his hands on her, in her. She wanted more, but she’d always been satisfied with pressure. It usually bought her to climax quickly, but tonight she’d go further. She moved a finger down to her opening, and, to spread her legs bit further, she moved her knee to her left.

And struck something solid. Her heart dropped, she remained frozen in tense silence. There was someone in her bed and she prayed to the gods she hadn’t awoken him so that she might quietly get away.

The nudge proved too much. He moved from the darkness, rocking her bed slightly, but she could still barely see him. His hand grabbed her wrist and he leaned in close. “Little bird, don’t let me stop you now,” she heard the Hound rasp.

She might’ve been dreaming if it weren’t for the pinching pain in her wrist. He was holding her too tightly; his face mere inches form her own. “What are you doing here?” she whimpered.

“I’m going, leaving this place.”

“Where?” she almost choked.

“Anywhere, wherever there isn’t fire. North maybe, to Winterfell.” His voice was a harsh whisper. He loosened his grip on her hand.

“I could take you with me, keep you safe.” She calmed down a bit at that, mind running circles around his offer. His hand felt rougher than she had imagined just moments before, the hard callouses in his palm scratching her skin. A light breeze blew in from her open window, chilling her naked thighs. _Naked! Oh, gods!_ She’d completely forgotten her nakedness. She moved to bring her legs back together, but Sandor laid his heavy hand on the inside of her thigh, pinning it in place.

“Not until you’ve finished what you started, little bird.”

Shock. Embarrassment and excitement coursed through her body. She felt herself heating up. Part of her wanted to tell him to let her go, and another wanted to do what he purposed.

“The battle is far from over. Take as long as you want. I believe this,” he said, placing his hand over hers and guiding it back down between her legs, “is where you left off.”

She couldn’t stop herself. Breathing hard, she looked up at him as he applied a soft pressure on her hand. It was enough to soak her undergarments through.

His hand moved back to her thigh. It was warm and heavy and she couldn’t stop herself. She started again and, sighing, tried to make out his eyes through the shadows. She felt him staring at her but could not discern the expression he wore. He whispered near her ear. “I can tell you’re close. The way your chest is heaving,” he squeezed her thigh. “Your nipples are poking up, wanting to come out of that corset.” “Ohh,” she couldn’t contain her moan then and her other hand reached for his. She couldn’t go further, but she knew he would.

“Tell me what you need, little bird.” His voice was harsh as steel on stone. She was close, so close. “Touch me,” she blurted, leaving all shame behind her.

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. She felt his hand slide across her thigh and then his long fingers were on her, the thin layer of silk a barrier between them and her bare skin. He rubbed her in soft, small circles, just as she had been doing to herself. “You’re soaked. What were you thinking of?”

Thinking was coming to be near impossible, let alone forming coherent sentences. He had her whimpering, the muscles in her thighs contracting around his hand. She brought herself to speak – it made her feel fierce. “You. I was thinking of you,” She said in an exalted pitch. She needed so badly for him to go further.

She thought she heard him growl before she almost lost herself as he pinched the silk, pushing it to the side so that he touched her slick folds. Her breath caught, but he reassured her; “I won’t do anything you won’t like, Sansa.” “No,” she stuttered, “k-keep going.”

He stopped his movements entirely for a moment. Then, understanding, he slid one thick finger down to her opening. He swirled it around the tiny pool there, applying more pressure as he went. She felt herself opening for him, a slight pain that heightened her senses. His finger was a third of the way inside of her and it began to retreat, only to push back into her slowly, so slowly.

Her moaning was uncontrolled now, all she could think of was his ragged breath on her skin and his finger inside of her. “Sing, little bird,” he kissed and nibbled her neck, just under her ear. She came around him, soaking his hand and her linen bed sheets. “Yes,” he growled, “that’s it.”

The pace of his hand steadily came to a rest, as did her rapidly beating heart. She was panting heavily, a thin layer of sweat covered her skin. Withdrawing his hand from between her legs, he brought his finger up to his mouth and sucked it. “You taste just as sweet as I’d imagined.” She could almost feel his carnivorous grin.

It was then that she realized he had moved closer to her, so close he was almost on top of her. The side of her left thigh was touching his, and she felt something long and thick there. Understanding hit her. Losing all sense of bravery, she shot up from the bed. He chuckled again, “let’s get out of this damned place.”


	2. Part Two

For days they rode on horseback through dark forests, taking a route it seemed no person had travelled for a long while. Sansa put all her faith in Sandor’s instincts for she knew nothing of deriving a sense of direction from the natural compasses surrounding them. He had told her about a constellation called Henaras that resembled a hand, the smallest digit of which always pointed north. This was their guide during the night, however visible the stars shown through the tree branches as they rode.

Stranger had given them more than any stallion would’ve been able to achieve. His pace had slowed to a canter by the fifth day, a feat that left Sansa astonished, her admiration for the beast ever growing. Sometimes his hooves would get caught amongst mangled roots that would cause him to stutter, but she held onto Sandor’s broad chest tightly until they finally came across a small village.

They dismounted before the wooden entrance gate. Sleeping in hollow niches in large, decaying trees had worn Sansa to the bone, the constant bumping on Stranger’s saddle not making matters any better. They were lucky it hadn’t rained, but the wilderness was rough nonetheless. She held to a mask of indifference, though, not wanting to appear weak before Sandor who seemed like he had only just began the trip.

Oddly enough, he had comforted her throughout the trip; _maybe hoping it wouldn’t break my spirit, that was kind of him._ He told her tales of mêlées and tourneys, even though he seemed to hold a disliking for the knights in them. She held onto the stories in her mind as each day passed her by. He wasn’t a knight; he had never said the vows. And yet he had won countless tourneys, even saved Ser Loras at her father’s tourney. Her father…

Sandor stood before her. His arms came up alongside her head as he pulled her hood over it. “You’re dirty enough to pass for a commoner,” she grimaced at his words, “but you should keep your hood up just in case.”

“What about you? They would notice you, the scar-” she asked.

“They know I’ve deserted, but they don’t know you’re missing. Can’t let that kind of information reach your brother in the North. Besides,” he harrumphed “no one in the likes of this here village would dare contest me.”

She believed him. A week gone eating nothing but bread, cheese, some scavenged fruits and nuts and a hare, if they were lucky, and the Hound still stood as tall and heavily built as he’d ever been. He was dirty too, but she decided it’d be best to keep that to herself.

Leading Stranger on, they walked towards the main square. A market crowded with merchants and customers had been set up, people loudly negotiating prices of vegetables and beheading squawking chickens. Sansa peered at them from under her hood, cautious as to not let her hair fall through. She noticed some people staring at Sandor as they made their way around the square, a group of old ladies looked at them for a long moment but then resumed their gossiping.

“You’d stand out less if you weren’t in your armor,” she said at his side.

“Should I strip here and now then? Thought you’d like to freshen up before-“

“I only meant,” she blushed, “that you should find a change of clothes. I’ve already brought some dresses that will last me for a while, but you-“

“Leave it to me,” he said flatly.

They approached some stables and Sansa waited outside as Sandor settled his mount. The air was filled with the aroma of roasting meat over a cook fire. Her mouth watered, her nose following the scent to a nearby inn named Fayelle’s Keep.

Her hunger led her to decide they would stay there. Sandor, catching the scent, broached no argument.

“A table, some wine, and two plates of that venison cooking in the back there.” His voice was commanding. The owner eyed him suspiciously, gave a curt nod and shouted a command to her cooks in the kitchen. They sat, and Sansa remembered they were both filthy. “We should get cleaned up,” she suggested from under her hood, “Eating before a bath is physically unsettling.” He grunted his reply, “You go on, little bird. I’ll bring your dinner up for you.” A maid set a wine cup in front of him. He left some coin on the table for Sansa to take. Reaching over to grab them, she looked at him, a silent thank you.

“How can I help mi’lady?” the hostess asked. “A warm bath please, and two rooms.”

“There’s only enough coin here for a bath and one room, mi’lady.”

She paused. _Sandor._ “One room it is, then.”

A half hour past, Sansa sat at a shabby dresser in the room she afforded. Sandor had left her meal outside the door, and she now sat eating slowly, despite her hunger, for fear she’d get a tummy ache. Sandor was washing himself with buckets from a nearby water pump out behind the inn. He was alone, and it was dark enough for no one to see him, _not that he’d care whether someone saw him._

Taking a piece of bread and sausage in her hand, she strode over to the window frame overlooking the backyard. She heard water splashing the pavement and, pushing aside the curtain, looked down to where a lone lamp hung. A large shadow was moving near the light. She took a bite.

It was later, when she’d finished eating her food and drying her hair, that he finally came upstairs to their room. She was already in bed and the room was almost pitch black except for the rapidly fading light from the backyard, a sliver of which shone against the wall opposite the bed. The door made a creaking sound as he opened it.

She couldn’t see much but she knew he’d entered wearing nothing but his boots and breeches. He set his armor down atop a chest at the foot of the bed and went over to the dresser where a cup of water waited for him. He drank deep, his back towards her. The muscles there and in his shoulder flexed when he lifted the cup to his lips, and again, in strange rippling movements when he set it back down. He bent to remove his boots and she shifted slightly in the bed.

The thin nightgown she wore kept riding up over her hips. Kissing her teeth, she lifted the blanket and pulled the shift down past her knees. _And stay there._ “What is it?” he whispered. She heard him loud and clear, her sense of hearing heightened when her eyesight was hindered. “Nothing, the mattress is a bit lumpy.”

“Not lumpier than Stranger’s back, I don’t think.” He made to get into bed. Sansa made a noise. “Wait, your trousers, are they the same ones you wore riding?”

“Aye, what of it?”

She sighed. “You’ll dirty the sheets.”

“Fuck the sheets, little bird.”

“You’ll dirty me.”

He paused. “What would you have me do?”

Her answering gesture was to turn the other way. With the soft thump of his trousers hitting the floor, the weight of his massive body tilted the bed downwards towards him. Sansa had to grab onto the headboard to keep from rolling into him. Her outstretched arm overhead pulled her garment up over her hips again.

Sandor chuckled his deep, rumbling chuckle. She wouldn’t dare lift the sheets to pull down the shift again. She couldn’t even she wanted to, her hand anchoring her to the head board so that she wouldn’t roll into Sandor’s naked, waiting body.

“You can’t stay perched up there all night, little bird,” he rasped. Amusement filled his voice. She gave up, let go and, just as she had thought, rolled right into him with a full twirl.

Her face almost hit his bare shoulder; she felt his thickly muscled arm nestled along her body. Her shift had gotten uncomfortably twisted now. Wriggling around was no use. “Here, girl,” he said suddenly. He turned to his left, facing her and moved his left arm up under the pillow so it didn’t block them. With his right arm alone under the blanket, he pulled her nightgown down. The feel of his knuckles against her thighs brought about an involuntary shiver. “Might be better you take it off completely,” he sighed. Sansa froze.

“A jest, Sansa. You can sleep comfortably now.”

Those emotions soared through her veins again. They’d been there, dormant, up until he entered the room. She became all too aware of the heat emitted from his body. His hand still rested on her waist. Gravity pulled her ever downward towards his hairy chest. Tension filled the darkness around them. His face was too close now, so close they shared a pillow. “Good night,” he grated.

“Good night,” Sansa said, and kissed him full on the lips.

His mustache tickled her. His lips were soft and wanting, pressing back onto her mouth. They kissed again, and once more, holding on longer with each meeting. Sansa kissed his upper lip, and then his lower, in turn. They opened for each other, his tongue cautiously meeting hers. He brought his hand up to the back of her head, up through her auburn hair, holding her in place as his tongue explored her deeper. She touched his chest, ran her fingernails through the coarse hair there. There was too much heat between them now. Moaning into his mouth, she pressed herself against him.

And felt him. Felt his huge erection press against her thigh. He noticed it too, for he then stopped kissing her. His fingers still entangled in her hair, she shyly moved her hand down across his abdomen, passed the ridges of his muscles and black hair. His hand tightened in her hair, he growled and she felt him ripple. Her hand found it now, she was gasping at the thickness alone. Travelling the whole length of him with her fingers, Sansa kissed him once more. A slow, deep kiss. And then she sat up.

“Help me, please,” she half moaned, half whispered, trying to take her shift off. He sat up then too, and pulled it up over her outstretched arms. Her nipples pierced the chill night air and she wanted to be near his heat again. Looking over her shoulder, arms covering her breasts, she met his eyes. The scars on his face were indiscernible through the shadows, but she could see a light in his eyes.

“You’ve never done this before. This won’t feel as pleasant as one of my fingers inside of you the night of the Blackwater.” They were not reassuring words, but they were honest, and the memory of that night only fed the flames in her blood. “Go slow,” she sighed.

He kissed her shoulder, moved her hands from her chest and laid her down again. Locking both of her wrists in one of his massive hands, he pulled them up over her head. The other he ran up her abdomen and over one tender breast. They were just big enough to fill his hand. She heard him growl again and then his lips were on one of her nipples, sucking gently. Sansa sighed at the feeling, every tug with his teeth sending an aching jolt between her legs. Her hands were trapped under his hand, her back arched to meet his mouth. He took one breast in hand and, squeezing, took it into his mouth whole, almost devouring her. She moaned, kicking the blanket away.

He finally released her, but only because he needed both hands to remove her smallclothes. They slid off easily and this, Sansa realized, was the first she’d been stark naked in front of Sandor Clegane, in front of any man at all. She was glad it was he and not any man.

He lay next to her again and moved her on her side so that her back was on his chest; her rump nestled onto his erection. She became suddenly nervous. His arm was up under the pillow again, his other hand on her tummy. He must’ve sensed her tense up. Kissing her neck, he spoke. “I’m going to make this as pleasurable for you as possible,” he reassured her. “Just relax your muscles,” he pulled one of her legs up behind his, holding her thigh. She watched his long-fingered hand move between her legs. He seemed to be watching over her shoulder as well.

He rubbed her slowly and she was already drenched. Her heart was beating fast and, she thought of the feeling of his chest on her back, so was his. “This is only going to get you ready for me,” he warned as he abruptly slid two fingers into her.

Her breath caught. It hurt, but it was nothing she couldn’t well take. He nibbled at her ear. “How’s that feel, little bird? Does it hurt?” His thumb went to work on her nub.

“No,” she panted. It felt amazing, fulfilling. “Deeper.” He did as she bid, there was a slight increase in discomfort but the pleasure was building nonetheless. She palmed her own breasts. Sandor bit her shoulder as he watched. He withdrew his hand suddenly, and she felt the silky, warm skin of his cock between her legs. Sandor lifted her leg slightly higher.

“Ready?” he rasped. “Yes, now,” she gasped, and he pushed into her.

He growled as he buried his head in her hair. She was in pain; it was too big, bigger than what his fingers prepared her for. She moaned loudly, “I love it when you sing for me.” He retreated from her and pushed back in. She moaned instinctively again. He set a pace now, moving in and out slowly. It was more than enough for her, but she could tell he was holding back, and she was grateful for it. She didn’t know how much longer she would last.

He put down her thigh and rolled her onto her belly. He was over her, resting his entire lower body weight on her legs but holding his upper body up slightly so as not to crush her. He was inside her, as deep as he could go, she knew. The pain gradually let up.

His face was in her hair again, his chest hair tickling her back. His pumping hips behind her rocked the bed slightly and she knew they were making enough noise to wake the entire inn. Pressing her face against the pillow, she moaned loudly, stuttering with each thrust. “Are you close?” he panted near her ear. She was, but all she managed was a nod. He pumped continuously into her, so deep that his balls hit that spot right above her opening, over and over again until she finally came undone, muscles tightly contracting around him. He let out a snarl and bit down lightly on her shoulder as he spilled inside of her, filled her up with his seed.

He lay on top of her for a moment longer, savoring the moment. She was grateful for it; she was not yet ready for him to withdraw completely. When he did, eventually, she felt hollow, and it awakened in her those emotions yet again.

But she was tired, exhausted and he moved to her side once more. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“I’m – ah- sleepy, but I’m fine.”

“Good, shall we?”

He pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her. Feeling safe for one of the first times in a long while, she quietly drifted away.


End file.
